Photo by Justyn Warner on Unsplash
All paper is scrap,
All canvases, blank.
All tracks are silent --
until you create:
Let the people escape,
man,
it's a life so unpleasant.
Let those people, live life, man,
This is their Now
AND their Present.
And if this present's unpleasant
and the grass could be greener
break through those thorns --
that mud could be deeper,
Now you know --
it's all your demeanor.
About the Creator
jl wood
I write fiction I've been scared to post, and poems I spam everywhere.
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